


mama said knock you out

by dancinbutterfly, returnsandreturns



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Pregnancy, Sex Pollen, Unplanned Pregnancy, girl!matt - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 13:04:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6080442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancinbutterfly/pseuds/dancinbutterfly, https://archiveofourown.org/users/returnsandreturns/pseuds/returnsandreturns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt takes her arm when Karen stands up and nudges her with it, guiding her through a crowd of people to get to the bathrooms in the back. When they’re inside, Matt locks the door behind them and immediately says, “I need you to promise not to tell anybody about this, okay?” </p><p>Karen looks at her for a long moment before she says, seriously, “I promise, Matt. What’s happening?” </p><p>Karen’s makes a noise that would have been really funny in a different circumstance when Matt pulls the pregnancy test from her bag. </p><p>“These things aren’t exactly accessible to people who can’t see,” Matt says, quietly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	mama said knock you out

**Author's Note:**

> dancinbutterfly wrote most of the plot and did field research in the family planning aisle and is responsible for Father Lantom's voice and some other dialogue I snatched from our chat. 
> 
> I wrote most of the words and channeled my biological clock like a motherfucker and googled and cried a whole lot! 
> 
> Collectively, we created this thing. <3
> 
> Quick note from dancinbutterfly: The title is from LL Cool J's song of the same name because it's Matt Murdock. We had to.

When Matt shows up at Foggy’s window a little after two in the morning, Foggy figures it’s probably because she’s bleeding to death or something. His go-to reaction to late night appearances from Matt is always _probably she’s bleeding to death or something_ , because it’s mostly been true, with a relative value of _to death_.

She’s tapping on the glass with her knuckles, eyes a little wide where her mask is pushed back, and she smiles when he opens it to let her it.

“Sorry for waking you up,” she says, grabbing his shoulder as leverage to pull herself through. “I’m having a small problem.”

“Is it internal or external?” he asks.

“What?”

“The bleeding.”

“No bleeding,” Matt says, and her laugh is a little pitched and weird. Foggy sleepily squints at her as she tugs the mask off entirely, running a hand through sweat-damp hair. “It’s a different type of problem, and I just—need you to know that you can say no and I’ll be okay, I’ll deal with it myself, but I just thought—well, your apartment was closer and it’ll be easier and, Foggy, I _trust_ you—”

“Hey, hey,” Foggy says, taking her wrist to still her hand where it was absently waving around as she spoke and squeezing lightly. “What’s going on?”

Matt moans a little at the touch, and Foggy thinks that maybe she’s in pain, but then she says, “Long story short, because I can tell you the long story tomorrow: I got dosed with—I don’t know, an aphrodisiac? Something strong, through my skin, and I thought, maybe. As friends. . .”

She draws off, bites her lip with her head cocked in Foggy’s direction before she rocks up on her toes to press a chaste kiss to his lips.

“Matt,” he says, taking a half-step back. “Mattie, you’re _drugged_.”

“I know what I’m doing,” she says, really earnestly. “I didn’t have to come to you, Foggy, I _wanted_ to—but—I’m sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have, I can go home and deal with it alone. I’m _sorry_.”

She’s shaking when she turns to walk away, fingernails digging into the skin of her palms, and Foggy almost lets her go but it’s late and she looks scared and it’s—it’s one night. As friends. It’s just like them cuddling or kissing each other on New Year’s Eve, just situationally way weirder and with no clothes on.

“Come here,” he says, softly, and Matt turns around.

“You sure?” she asks.

“Come _here_ ,” he says, again, and she grins at him and stumbles forward to wrap her arms around his neck, letting him support her weight.

“I’m lucid, I promise, buddy,” she says, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I just also feel like I’m gonna jump out of my skin if somebody doesn’t touch me in the next five to ten seconds.”

“Just tell me what you need, Matt,” he says, wondering if he should look away while she starts to strip out of the suit but figuring they’re probably a step beyond that already. She looks small in the dark, wearing a black sports bra and spandex shorts and rocking back and forth on her bare feet.

“Kiss me, I think,” she murmurs, then nods affirmatively, says, “Yeah, kiss me, please.”

Foggy steps forward and Matt meets him halfway, melting into his arms again and tipping her face up. She lets him kiss her first, but she opens her mouth immediately, digs fingers into his back to urge him on. She raises one of her legs a little and Foggy takes the hint, picks her up at the waist so she laughs and wraps her legs around his hips, clinging to him.

“I knew you’d be fun,” she says. “Marci used to try to talk to me about it all the time.”

“Oh, god,” Foggy says. “Don’t tell me anything she said.”

“All good things,” Matt says. “Some of it possibly exaggerated, but I guess we’ll see.”

Matt’s a solid weight, small but all muscle and probably weighty Catholicism or something, so he holds her up against the wall while he kisses her again, until Matt’s making soft, needy noises in the back of her throat and rolling her hips against him as best she can.

“Letting you lead, Matt,” he says, gently. Matt nods, noses against his cheek for a second.

“You should fuck me,” she says, firmly, then smirks, “but on the bed, because I don’t want you to drop me.”

“Come on, you’re like a tiny hot body builder,” Foggy says. “I’m just a mortal man, here.”

He lets her slide to the floor and she gives him another hug before she moves to hop onto the bed. She pulls her bra over her head and tosses it away, then arches up to pull off her shorts, and then it’s just—Mattie, all of her, sprawled out and smiling at him hesitantly.

“Would it make this weird,” he asks, “if I told you that you’re kind of gorgeous?”

Matt’s smile gets wider, and she turns her face to hide it against the sheets for a second before she says, “Find a condom and come say that to my face, Nelson.”

Foggy gets undressed before he goes to rummage through his nightstand, asking, “Do we need lube?” as he pulls out a condom and checks the expiration date.

“No,” Matt says, voice squeaking a little. “Nope, we’re good.”

Foggy looks over to see her touching herself, grinding the heel of her hand into her clit and curling two soaked fingers inside herself, head thrown back and panting.

“Fuck, Mattie,” he says.

“That’s the idea,” Matt shoots back.

Foggy gets the condom on as quickly as he can and climbs up to kiss Matt, swallowing her moan, dick nudging up against her stomach.

“God, I’m already so close, Foggy, come _on_ ,” she says, and he nods and positions himself to push inside of her while Matt wraps her legs around him to get even closer. She makes a low appreciative noise when he starts to fuck her, digging her heels into the small of his back and still touching herself.

She comes apart a couple of minutes later, clenching around him and shuddering, saying, “Keep going, seriously, absolutely don’t stop.”

Foggy slows down anyway, because she looks overwhelmed, but then Matt groans.

“Can I—not that you’re not doing a great job,” she says, unhooking her legs and pushing a little at his shoulder. Foggy lets her turn him so he’s on his back, and then she’s straddling him a moment later, sinking back down onto his dick in one fluid motion.

“Oh, _god_ , Matt,” he says.

“Yeah,” she says, not easing into it at all, riding him quick and hard. Foggy pushes her fingers away from her clit and she looks murderous for about two seconds before he replaces them with his, which makes her head tip back and her mouth fall open. “Oh, _Foggy_.”

Matt comes a second time, letting out a sob and dropping a hand to press against his, pushing it down harder on her clit as she bucks on top of him. Foggy comes quickly afterwards, and she keeps riding him anyway until he says, strangled, “We’ve got to stop for a second, Mattie, get off.”

She groans but complies, sliding off of him slowly and collapsing next to him, fingers immediately going back to her clit.

“Do not judge me,” she says, threateningly. “Whatever they got me with was _strong_.”

“I don’t even have time to judge you,” Foggy says, agreeably, pulling off the condom and tying it before he tosses it into the trash beside his nightstand. Then he grabs for Matt’s legs and spreads them wider to sprawl out between them and get his mouth on her. Matt shrieks a little when his tongue slides around her clit, hand going down to curl into his hair.

“Oh, Marci wasn’t faking it,” she says, less than a minute in, voice low. “I thought, with the _noises_ , surely, but. . .”

“Good to know,” Foggy says, then: “Shit, how much could you _hear_?”

“Everything,” Matt says, darkly. “Please put something inside of me and maybe I can forget some of the trauma.”

Foggy agreeably slips two fingers inside of her, curls them and presses until he can fuck these really amazing noises out of Matt that he’s going to have a really hard time pretending he’s never heard once this is all over. When she comes again, she shouts his name and wraps her thighs around his head momentarily before she spreads them out again, gasping, “Keep going, keep going, please, please, _please_.”

Foggy keeps going. He eats her out until his jaw hurts and his fingers are cramped, until Matt finally, _finally_ collapses underneath him and whines and pulls his head away with her fingers still knotted in his hair.

“You okay, buddy?” he asks, cautiously.

Matt stretches out slowly, like she has to think about the question, before she whispers hoarsely, “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. It might be out of my system?”

Foggy sits up to grab the corner of his sheets and wipe off his face and hands as best he can before he crawls up to lay beside her, so their arms are touching. Matt turns to make a concerned face at him.

“You’re hard again,” she says. “I could—”

“Nah,” Foggy murmurs. “Mattie, it’s cool, you’re literally mostly dead right now. Just pretend you can’t smell it or whatever.”

She laughs, says, “If you’re sure,” before she curls up against him, making a soft pleased sigh when he wraps an arm around her to pull her closer. He looks down to see her looking blissed out and smiling, cheek pressed up against his chest.

“You’re really okay?” he asks.

“More than okay,” she says, still in a whisper, voice raspy from yelling so much. “Thanks, Foggy. Really. I didn’t want to do that alone.”

“I was gonna say ‘any time,’” he says, “but maybe avoid getting sex-drugged in the future, okay?”

“Uh huh,” Matt says, clearly not paying attention to him anymore, still smiling as she falls asleep. Foggy listens to her soft snoring and stares at the ceiling with wide eyes. That happened. He’s still got Matt’s come on his face, between his fingers, soaked through his sheets. That _happened_.

He wants to sleep but he’s a little too busy wondering what the hell Matt was doing that would end with her getting drugged, and why she went to Foggy instead of Claire or someone, and what this _means_. Matt hums softly in her sleep and snuggles closer while Foggy makes itemized lists in his head of questions that he’s not sure he’ll be able to ask in the morning.

*

Foggy wakes up before Matt does, so he lays quietly until she stirs, making a confused face before she seems to remember where she is. She pulls away enough to smile at him, stretching her limbs out again with a yawn.

“Wow, your sheets are disgusting,” she says, pulling a face. “Sorry, I’ll wash them for you.”

“I was going to the laundromat today anyway,” Foggy says.

“I think my thighs are stuck together,” she continues, with detached interest. “Last night was something, wasn’t it?”

“It certainly was,” Foggy says, dryly, and Matt leans over to press a kiss to his shoulder.

“Thank you again,” she says. “I know it was weird.”

“Eh, what isn’t these days,” he replies, running his hand over her hair, and Matt turns to collapse on top of him in a quick hug.

“Mind if I shower first?” she asks, then leans in to kiss Foggy’s cheek when he makes an assenting noise. Foggy watches her as she climbs out of bed and heads for the bathroom, because he figures their boundaries basically don’t exist anymore and, besides, what if this is the only time he gets to see Matt’s glorious bare ass in the light of day?

“Hey, wait,” he says, suddenly, and Matt ducks her head back around the door. “What the hell happened last night? Before you came here? You never told me.”

“Oh!” Matt says. “I think it was a forced prostitution ring. You should check the news, I called in an anonymous tip while I was stumbling to your place and trying to resist the urge to have sexual congress with a streetlight.”

“Oh my god,” Foggy says, but he grabs his laptop anyway, and, yeah, sure enough. Recently developing prostitution ring uncovered in Hell’s Kitchen; the girls were all heavily drugged with an unknown substance. Matt’s damn lucky she didn’t get hurt even worse.

“You did good!” he says.

“I try!” she calls back, over the sound of the shower.

Foggy scratches at a patch of dried come on his cheek before he sighs and leverages himself to his feet, pulling on his clothes from last night before he slips into the bathroom after her.

“Ignore me, I’ve just got to wash my face,” he says.

“Yeah, you do,” Matt murmurs, giggling, and Foggy grins and shakes his head. He washes his face and hands, and he’s halfway through brushing his teeth when the shower turns off and Matt steps out in a towel. She jostles him a little to get next to him at the sink and brush her teeth with the toothbrush she keeps there; his bathroom’s too small for one person, if they’re being realistic, but Matt just turns until she’s tucked up against the wall.

“Can I borrow clothes? I think I need to live on your couch for a few hours,” she asks, with a mouthful of toothpaste. “I’d go home but I’m barely standing up as it is. Did I come _ten_ times last night?”

“I lost count after six,” Foggy says.

“You’re such a champ,” she says, patting his shoulder before she turns to spit and rinse her mouth out. She follows him out of the bathroom and waits for him to look through his dresser before he hands her a sweatshirt and a pair of pajama pants she can cinch at the waist—she hesitates for a second before she slips back into the bathroom to change. 

Foggy leaves her to it, going into the kitchen to turn on the coffee pot, leaning against the counter to wait. Matt wanders out a few minutes later with her hair up in ponytail, pajama pants rolled up at the bottom and still dragging the ground, swimming in his shirt. If there’s a small pang somewhere in Foggy’s heart, he just hopes she doesn’t notice it.

He waits until Matt’s settled against him on the couch, coffee in hand, to ask, “Why didn’t you go to Claire? Or one of your exes?”

“You’re the only person in the world who still talks to all of their exes, Foggy,” Matt says, fondly. “And Claire—it was complicated. To be honest, you were the first person I thought about and, at that point, my brain had a somewhat single-minded determinedness.”

“Screw or die?” Foggy asks.

“And I chose the first,” Matt says, smirking and raising her mug. Foggy gently taps his against it.

“Cheers to that,” he says. After all, if Matt can be so cool about this, so can he. Probably.

*

A few weeks later, Matt stays late after Mass. She’s been sitting on the bench outside the church for half an hour, twisting her fingers in the fabric of her skirt, when Father Lantom finally shows up. He makes a curious noise when he sees her.

“You look like you could use a latte, Ms. Murdock,” he says, after a beat.

“Decaf?” Matt asks.

She follows him into the kitchen, sinking down into a chair as soon as she finds one, folding her arms on the table and dropping her head on them. She listens to the sound of him making the coffee, taking slow deep breaths, not sitting up again until he’s settling in front of her and sliding a mug towards her.

They’re silent for awhile before Father Lantom says, “So, how about those Knicks?”

Matt laughs, a short choked noise.

“Unless you have something you’d rather talk about,” Father Lantom continues.

“You said the seal of confession extends to lattes, right?” she asks.

His heartbeat picks up a little. Fear, maybe—worry.

“What did you do, Mattie?” he asks, calmly.

Matt hides her face in her hands again.

“ _Premaritalsex_ ,” she says, all one word.

Father Lantom’s relieved sigh turns into a laugh at the end.

“Good lord, I assumed you’d _killed someone_ ,” he says. “I think you’ll recover from this one.”

Matt makes a miserable face at him.

“What are you so worried about?” Father Lantom asks. “In the grand spectrum of sins you might have committed recently, I can’t imagine you think this is what’s going to ruin you.”

Matt sighs.

“I’m late,” she says. Father Lantom’s silent for a moment.

“Ah,” he says, significantly. “Decaf.”

“Yeah,” Matt says, crossing her arms over her chest.

 “You know, I thought we were concerned more with Deuteronomy and Paul's Letter to Romans with you,” Father Lantom says, contemplatively. Matt raises her eyebrows and frowns at him, and he continues, “Lesbian, Matt. I thought you were a lesbian.”

Matt snorts.

“Not entirely,” she says, quietly.

“Is the father supportive?” he asks.

“I haven’t told him yet,” Matt says, shaking her head. “I haven’t even taken the test. I don’t—know if I want to know what it’ll say.”

“Mattie,” he says, slowly. “Can I give you some advice?”

Matt thinks about it for a second before she nods.

“Take the test,” he says. “The dread you’re feeling now is far worse than whatever the result is.”

“You sure about that?” she asks, dryly.

“I’m sure that you’re a very strong person,” he replies, “and that you’ll get through this, no matter what happens. But you won’t be able to start getting through it until you know for sure.”

She wants to hug him. Maybe it’s the hormones. Instead, she swallows hard and says, “You’re probably right. I guess I’m going to a drugstore.”

“Godspeed,” he replies, genuinely.

*

Matt’s standing in the middle of RiteAid when she realizes that she won’t be able to read the test’s outcome. Tiny print, symbols, nothing raised up or that makes noise—she has to ask one of the women working there to show her to the aisle and for a recommendation, and the woman helpfully chats about her different options before she has to notice that Matt is shaking. She plucks a box off the shelf and places it in Matt’s hand.

“This’ll do you,” she says, gently. “Take it with a friend, doll.”

Matt kind of wants to ask if she can take it in their bathroom, if this actual stranger would read the results to her, but that’s kind of asking a lot. It’s not this woman’s fault that Matt’s only got one real friend.

Well— _Marci_ , she thinks. Marci still drags her out for cocktails occasionally, a holdover from law school and their time at L&Z together when she’d declared that Matt was spending too much time with Foggy and needed an intervention. But Marci would probably cackle and make fun of her and send Foggy a _Congratulations, Daddy_ balloon bouquet and then very gently, very supportively research and recommend the best places to get an abortion.

Which Matt’s not thinking about.

She inanely thinks about making Foggy take it with her, but the thought of telling him still makes her nauseous, because what if he wants to keep it? What if he _doesn’t_?

The thought carries her back to her apartment, where she drops the paper bag on her floor and crawls onto her couch to lay on her side, curling in on herself a little. She’s not going to call Claire. Claire will be there for her if she really needs it, she knows, Claire _said_ , but—she’s not going to call Claire. 

Which leaves—okay, she’s not going to make her priest hold her hand while she pees on a stick.

So, Karen, basically. Karen’s been weird, lately—since something happened that she won’t tell Matt about, since she knows that they were lying to her but won’t tell her why—but she’ll be okay about it. Matt’s pretty sure.

She’s just going to have to figure out a time to get her alone so she can ask her.

*

Matt never manages to catch Karen by herself at the office, but they go out to Josie’s that Friday and she seizes the opportunity when Foggy leaves the table to go get them drinks, turning to Karen to say, “I have a weird favor to ask.”

“Of course,” Karen says, curiously.

“Will you come to the bathroom with me?”

“O—kay, that’s actually not weird,” Karen says, slowly. “But sure.”

Matt takes her arm when Karen stands up and nudges her with it, guiding her through a crowd of people to get to the bathrooms in the back. When they’re inside, Matt locks the door behind them and immediately says, “I need you to promise not to tell anybody about this, okay?”

Karen looks at her for a long moment before she says, seriously, “I promise, Matt. What’s happening?”

Karen’s makes a noise that would have been really funny in a different circumstance when Matt pulls the pregnancy test from her bag.

“These things aren’t exactly accessible to people who can’t see,” Matt says, quietly.

“Oh, _Mattie_ ,” Karen breathes. “I thought you needed a tampon or something. Do you think you’re really—”

“I don’t know,” Matt says. “I don’t know, but I have to do this so I can sleep again, and I can’t ask Foggy—would you please read it for me? And wait with me?” 

“Of course I will,” Karen says, stepping in to pull her into a hug. Matt falls into it, her soft cotton dress and the familiar smell of her perfume, breathing shakily against Karen’s neck. Karen politely looks away, leaning against the seat while Matt does the test and stepping away so she can wash her hands. Then, when Matt grips the test tight in her hand and slides down to sit on the floor, heedless of how long it’s probably been since somebody cleaned it, Karen immediately drops down next to her.

She keeps a hand on Matt’s arm, and Matt counts seconds in time with Karen’s heartbeat while she softly tells Matt about a couple she eavesdropped on in line for coffee this morning—until Karen draws off and says, “Oh.”

“What does it say?” Matt asks.

“It’s positive,” Karen says. “It’s—you’re gonna have a baby, Matt.”

Matt lets herself be pulled into a hug, feeling her body go rigid and terrified at the same time as her brain lights up: _baby, baby, baby_.

“Or—you don’t have to have it, of course,” Karen says.

“Not really an option,” Matt says.

She doesn’t know if she wants it to be an option. It’s not just the church, it’s—a lot more. Karen just nods, the sweep of her hair against Matt’s shoulder. Karen holds her for a minute or two before she pulls away.

“Can I ask something?” she asks.

Matt nods.

“Whose baby is it?”

Matt tips her head forward to rest her forehead on her knees, sniffing, and Karen murmurs, “ _Oh_ ,” and shuffles closer to wrap an arm around her again and pull her close to her side. Matt stays wrapped up around herself but she leans into the touch.

“Foggy’s?” Karen asks, carefully.

Matt lets out a startled, wet laugh.

“God, how did you _know_?” she asks.

“You’ve both been acting strange,” Karen says. “Not like that last fight, but—you know, Foggy already looks at you like you hung the moon, but lately he’s been looking at you like you hung the moon and, also, like he wants to see you naked.”

“The effect of looks is kind of lost on me,” Matt says. “We—we just had a night, a few weeks ago. A one night thing. It was—”

“Good?” Karen guesses.

“Yes,” Matt says, huffing out a laugh. “Really good. But a mistake, clearly.”

Karen tightens her hold for a second before she stands up, reaching for Matt’s hand to help her to her feet.

“You should tell him tonight,” she says. “Before he gets drunk.”

“Yeah,” Matt says, nodding. “Yeah, you’re right.”

*

She doesn’t tell him that night, just keeps paying for drinks that she throws out when he’s not looking and helps him home at the end of the night, hugging back a little desperately when he pulls her into his arms at his front door.

She also doesn’t tell him the next day.

Or the next.

Karen pushes her gently until it’s been almost a full week, when she starts to make vague pointed statements whenever Matt’s in the room.

“I’m going home early,” she says, significantly, from the door of Matt’s office.

“I can’t tell if you’re giving me a look,” Matt says.

“I am,” Karen replies.

“Alright. Have a good night,” Matt says, turning back to her computer.

“ _Mattie_.”

“I’ll talk to him, okay?” Matt says, softly. “Just go, Karen.”

Karen stands there for a moment longer before she sighs and leaves, calling out a good-bye to Foggy as she’s headed out the door.

*

A few minutes after Karen heads out, Foggy packs up his bag and heads into Matt’s office.

“Ready to call it quits for the day?” he asks.

“We need to talk about something first,” she says, quick and definitively, like she’s ripping off a Band-Aid, and it immediately makes Foggy feel like he’s about to break out into a cold sweat. Which Matt can probably smell.

“You breaking up with me?” he jokes. Matt smiles, a little fleeting thing that doesn’t look real.

“No, it’s—something happened the other night, when I showed up at your place,” she says.

“I’m aware,” Foggy says. “A lot of things happened, all in a row.”

“It’s really just the first thing that’s relevant here,” she says, the faintest hint of a smile still there.

“. . .what are you saying, Matt?” he asks.

Matt gives him a look that’s completely helpless, and Foggy follows his instincts, drops his bag to cross her office in a couple of steps and carefully place his hand on Matt’s shoulder. Point of contact that she can easily shrug off if it’s too much or lean into if she needs it—care and keeping of Mattie Murdock 101. 

Matt leans into it, lets out a long labored breath, and says, shaky, “Foggy, I’m pregnant.”

He maybe stops breathing for—a nice long second, and Matt looks panicked, which isn’t okay, because—yeah, this is probably why Karen and her have been frantically whispering to each other. For a whole week. She’s been freaking out about this for a _week_.

“ _Mattie_ ,” he whispers, closing his fingers around her arm to gently pull her up out of her chair and into a hug. She clings back instantly, arms around his neck. “Are you really?”

“Yeah,” she says, voice careful, maybe a little wet. “Really.”

“And it’s—” he starts, pulling back to look at her.

“Yours,” she says, eyes wide behind her glasses.

Foggy’s heart’s probably going crazy, because this is _big_. Matt’s kind of crying, and Foggy can’t even tell what she’s feeling—terrified, probably. This isn’t exactly in her life plan, especially not with _him_.

“What are you thinking, Matt?” he asks.

“You sound like you’re having a, a heart attack,” she says, quietly. “Why?”

“I’m just surprised— _not_ in a bad way,” Foggy says. “But aren’t you on birth control?”

Matt shakes her head.

“I haven’t had time for sex, so I didn’t bother wasting money on it,” she says, shrugging, taking off her glasses and wiping at her eyes with her sleeve. “And my insurance is garbage and doctors always give me pamphlets on domestic abuse when they see the bruises.”

“Fair enough,” Foggy says, rubbing a hand over her arm.

“I don’t know what to say,” she says.

“It’s okay,” he replies.

“It’s not—Foggy, what are we going to _do_?”

She steps away from him, wiping at her eyes again, mouth twisted in a frown. Foggy takes a deep breath, thinks carefully before he answers because Matt’s flushed and her eyes are red and she looks miserable.

“I’ll be behind you no matter what you choose,” he says, “and you. You get to choose, Matt. If you don’t want to go through with it, I’ll be okay with it.”

Matt smiles, but it’s—an awful smile, sad and small.

“I can hear when you’re lying,” she says, faintly.

“Oh, fuck,” Foggy says. “Mattie.”

He reaches up to run his fingers through her hair, cups her cheek.

“I’d deal with it,” he corrects himself. “If you didn’t want this—I promise, I’d be fine.”

“Do you really want this?” she asks. “You want to raise a kid? With _me_?”

Foggy’s silent for a moment. He hadn’t really thought about it up until this point—thought about spending his spending his whole life with Matt, sure, that was already in the plan, but not necessarily like this. It _is_ kind of beautiful, though. Nelson and Murdock. Just a different piece of their super weird puzzle.

“Yeah. Yeah, maybe. I know it’s a lot,” he says, “and, look, there’s always other options—adoption, for one.”

“ _No_ ,” Matt says, firmly, shaking her head. “No, that’s. . .even less of an option than getting rid of it.”

“Okay,” Foggy says—probably should have guessed that one, “No adoption.”

They’re both silent for a minute before Matt lets out a shaky sigh.

“Foggy,” she says, like it physically hurts to admit. “I’m really scared.”

“Hey, come here,” he says, again, pulling Matt into another hug. “It’s okay. We’re okay. You’re the Woman Without Fear, right?”

“That name was bullshit from the beginning,” she says, laughing into his shirt. “I’m the Woman Without Any Fucking Common Sense.”

Foggy holds onto her, letting Matt move around in his arms until she’s comfortable, small and tucked up against his chest. When she settles, he presses a kiss to the top of her head.

“You know, a kid could do worse than us,” he says, softly.

“I know,” she says, with a little gasping laugh. “I know it.”

*

Matt goes home with him, and they get Chinese takeout and spend most of the night talking, until Matt’s laughing and feeling less miserable. Foggy’s good at this, making her feel better; he always has been.

“It doesn’t have to happen now, but I’ve sort of always wanted to be a dad,” he says. “I just feel like I have a lot of _wisdom_ that I need to pass on to the next generation, you know?”

“You’re pretty wise,” Matt agrees, thoughtfully.

“Did you ever want to be a mom?” Foggy asks, voice measured and casual.

Matt thinks about it, and Foggy lets her, staying quiet and stretching out so she hears the soft clicking of his joints before he settles back into the couch with a sigh.

“I never thought I’d have a family again,” she says, eventually. “I didn’t think it was an option. Until—”

She draws off, and Foggy nudges her with his elbow.

“Until what?” he asks.

She wrinkles her nose and smiles sideways at him, saying, quietly, “Well, you’re kind of my family, aren’t you?”

Foggy’s heart does something interesting, and then he says, “Shit, Murdock,” and hauls her into another hug. She goes easily, wrapping her arms around his waist. They haven’t touched this much since law school, when their shitty apartment’s radiator broke and they basically had to sleep around as an excuse to stay at other people’s places for the night and cuddle together to survive the winter when they couldn’t. It’s nice. She kind of missed it.

“Can we do this?” she asks, quietly. “Is this stupid?”

“Probably,” Foggy says, “but we’ve definitely done stupider things. Well. _You_ have, at least.”

Matt laughs.

“That’s true,” she says. “And people have babies all the time, right?”

“Way worse people than us,” Foggy says. “Jerks and criminals and _Republicans_ have babies, and the world just keeps on spinning.”

Matt breathes in deeply.

“I think I wanna be a mom,” she whispers. She’s—she’s in her thirties, and they’re mostly out of debt, and—she _wants_ this. A warmth inside her that she’s pretty sure she’s imagining and Foggy’s strong heartbeat close to her ear as he holds her closer. Something bigger than both of them.

“I think you’ll be a fantastic one,” Foggy replies, and he believes it. She can tell.

*

“You know,” Foggy says, later that night. “We could get married.”

Matt raises her eyebrows.

“No, we couldn’t,” she says, laughing.

“We absolutely could!” Foggy says. “As _bros._ We’re already partners, might as well make it civil, too. It’ll make paperwork easier and keep the nuns off your back.”

“Marriage is sacred,” Matt says, smiling at him. “It’s— _important._ I’m not going to marry you just because I’m pregnant.”

“You could, though,” Foggy says. “I’d do it. I’d do it right now.”

“Thanks for the offer,” Matt says wryly, then rolls her eyes at him when he starts to hum the Wedding March. He doesn’t mention it again until she’s leaving to go back to her place, taking her hand suddenly.

“I thought I’d just ask one more time—” he says, starting to kneel down on one knee before she rolls her eyes and hauls him back up.

“Save it,” she says, fondly, but she kisses him on the cheek, holds on a little bit too long.

*

Karen screams a little when they tell her the next day, that they’re keeping it, that they’re going to raise it together.

“Office baby!” she says, throwing her arms around both of them. “I’m gonna be the _best_ aunt, just wait.”

“Just so you know,” Foggy says, “I’m planning to have some ridiculous demands over the course of this pregnancy. I’ve heard the cravings are a nightmare, so expect some weird lunch orders.”

“You don’t get to co-opt my symptoms,” Matt says, poking him in the side. “I get to be the crazy one.”

“I will only do crazy tasks for the person who’s bringing life into the world,” Karen says, high fiving Matt when she raises her hand and smiles.

“Can I be a little crazy?” Foggy asks. “I’m going to be a _dad_ , can I—I don’t know, drink too many beers at dinner and make bad jokes?”

They both make faces at him.

“Foggy,” Karen says. “You do that, anyway.”

Foggy thinks about it.

“Well,” he says. “Maybe I’ll build a deck.”

*

Foggy is parked on her couch with his laptop that night and jokingly trying to calculate how much a semester at Columbia is going to cost in eighteen years when Matt hears it—a scream, two blocks away, sharp and terrified. She’s on her feet in the same moment, headed for her closet, when Foggy catches her arm.

“Mattie, what did you hear?” he asks.

“A teenager—someone just _dragged_ her out of a car and into an apartment, I think, I’ve got to go—” she says, trying to pull away, frowning when Foggy doesn’t let go.

“Call Jessica,” he says. “You can’t go fight someone, Matt. I can’t let you.”

“You can’t _let me?”_ Matt asks. “Foggy, they’ve got her right now, I have to—”

She wrenches out of his grip, takes three steps towards the stairs before Foggy says, “How many times have you gotten kicked in the stomach, Matt? Or _stabbed_?”

She stops in her tracks. _Fuck_.

“Call Jess—shit, call her right now—we should have already _talked_ about this,” Foggy continues, grabbing Matt’s phone from the coffee table and handing it to her.

Matt’s frozen for a second before she pulls out her phone and tells Jessica what’s happening, opens her window to listen and stays on the line until she’s directed her to the right apartment and hears her knock down the door. When she hangs up, Foggy’s standing nearby. He reaches out to touch her arm and she steps away, turns to cross the room.

“She’s got it covered,” she says, feeling like all of her edges have suddenly gotten too sharp.

“Mattie,” he says.

“I could have helped her,” Matt says. “I could—I could go out _with_ Jessica, just be backup, stay out of harm’s way.”

“You’ve never been very good at that last thing,” Foggy says.

Matt shoots him a baleful look.

“Matt,” he says, slowly, moving closer. “ _Mattie_. Surely you don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Matt huffs and wraps her arms around herself.

“No,” she says, “but I’m still going to want to _fight_ someone.”

“Then fight me,” Foggy says, nudging her with his shoulder when he steps up beside her. “Come on, I’m doing old timey boxer hand motions. Put ‘em up, Murdock.”

Matt barks out a laugh before she cuts it off and says, “Don’t patronize me, I’m actually upset. I’m still going to be able to hear— _everything_ , Foggy, and I just can’t do anything about it?”

“You’re not the only one doing something about it anymore, Matt,” Foggy says. “You can let your ragtag gang of weirdos pick up the slack.”

“I can’t call Jessica and Luke every time something happens,” Matt says. “They have jobs and lives—”

“Matt, you have your own law firm,” Foggy says, clearly struggling not to roll his eyes even though she can only guess that he’s actually doing it from his tone. “You’re having a _baby_.”

Matt makes a face at him, but she leans into his shoulder and smooths a hand over her stomach, sighing. It’s too early for her to be showing, but she can’t stop touching it.

“I wouldn’t do anything to hurt it,” she says, softly. “I’m not going to change my mind.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” Foggy says, sliding an arm around her waist, covering her hand with his. “I’m sorry you can’t do both.”

Matt huffs out a laugh.

“No, you’re not,” she says.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he agrees, lightly. “I’m actually completely relieved that you can’t Daredevil while pregnant. You caught me.”

Matt hunches down a little, but she doesn’t move away from him. He’s right. He’s _obviously_ right.

She hates when he’s obviously right.

*

Matt turned Marci down for cocktails the week before, so Marci shows up at their office right before they’re going home a few days after Matt tells Foggy, smelling like Chanel and vengeance.

“I can only be denied your illuminating presence for so long, Murdock,” she says, voice slipping seamlessly between sweet and arched, tapping her nails on Matt’s desk. Matt grimaces up at her.

“Sorry,” she says, gesturing at the mess on her desk. “We’re taking on a lot more cases, lately.”

“Any of them paying you?” Marci asks. 

“At least two,” Matt says, smiling. She glances up in the direction of quiet, slow footsteps, very clearly Foggy trying to sneak past them and get out of the door before Marci notices him.

Matt smiles wider.

“Oh, Foggy, look who’s here,” she calls. Foggy groans quietly.

“Foggy Bear,” Marci says, turning on her heel.

“Marci,” he says, very politely. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been spectacular,” Marci replies. “Turns out once I got out of Landman & Zach’s boy’s club hellscape, I don’t even need to show cleavage to get decent cases. I’ve been trying to get Matilda here to come celebrate my new job, but evidently you’re both far too busy.”

“We’ve got clients now,” Foggy says. “Some of them can even pay us.”

“How novel,” Marci says. “Surely you can spare her for a night, though. Drinks are on me.”

“Oh, Matt can’t drink,” Foggy says, automatically. Matt sucks in a sharp breath, flattening her hands on her desk and trying to control her face when Marci goes still and quiet.

“Oh?” she asks. “And why’s that?”

“Uh,” Foggy says.

“Matt?” Marci asks, instead.

“Because I’m clean and sober?” Matt attempts, weakly. She can feel Marci’s eyes on her but stays resilient.

She’s pretty sure that Marci turns to glare at Foggy instead, because his heart speeds up noticeably and she can kind of taste sweat in the air.

“She’s pregnant!” Foggy says, not thirty seconds later, and Matt groans, dropping her forehead to rest it on her desk.

“Great job,” she says.

“You’re _blind_ , you can’t see the _look she just gave me_ ,” Foggy says, dropping into one of the chairs in front of Matt’s desk, mostly unapologetic.

“Pregnant?” Marci asks. “Matt, did you enter into a traditional Christian marriage since the last time I saw you?”

Matt shakes her head, as well as she can considering she refuses to lift it from her desk.

“So, it’s immaculate conception then,” Marci continues.

“It’s _Foggy_ ,” Matt says, because goddamn it, he’s coming down with her.

Marci sounds genuinely surprised when she says, “Oh good _god_. Seriously?”

“It’s mine,” Foggy says.

“And you’re not offering to marry her?” Marci asks, voice a little choked like she’s holding in a laugh when Matt groans a little. “Do I have to threaten you for compromising Matt’s virtue?”

“I have! Like three times!” Foggy says. “She refused me because we aren’t dating. I’m heartbroken, personally, you know how I love elaborate Catholic ceremonies. And _cake_.”

“I’m already sinning, I’m not going to include an illegitimate marriage on top of it,” Matt says, into the papers under her face. She sits up to frown at them, and Marci starts giggling.

“Oh, Christ, I can’t tell if this is the funniest thing that’s ever happened,” she says, with a sigh, “or if I’m having a panic attack imagining how this situation is going to work out. I should probably leave. We’re going to have non-alcoholic cocktails tomorrow night, Mattie, no backing out, we need to bond over this shared experience.”

“Pregnancy?” Matt asks, making a face at her.

“No, sweetheart, _Foggy_ ,” Marci replies, sounding especially evil as she walks out of Matt’s office. “Wear something cute, maybe we’ll find someone who’ll want to make an honest woman out of you.”

There’s a deep silence after she leaves.

“You’re not going to find someone to make an honest woman out of you, are you?” Foggy asks, eventually, voice going a little funny.

“Maybe,” Matt says, “if I find someone who can keep a _secret_.”

“Well,” Foggy says, with a sigh. “Make sure he’s rich. Our baby needs a college fund.”

*

Marci and Matt became friends in college out of proximity and eventually begrudging respect, but eventually she forcibly took Matt under her wing and tried to transform her into a properly socialized girl—she failed, mostly, but it made their boundaries kind of weird and sometimes Marci likes to treat her like a Barbie doll.

She shows up at Matt’s apartment on Saturday night to pick out her outfit, selecting a little black dress that Matt bought entirely at Marci’s behest and has worn exactly one time—might as well give it a shot now, since it’s not going to fit soon.

She follows Matt into the bathroom and sits on the toilet while she shaves her legs.

“So, you two finally broke under the weight of your sexual tension, huh?” Marci asks.

“There’s no sexual tension,” Matt says, running her fingers over her ankle to double-check it. “We just had one fun night. It’s over.”

Marci makes a skeptical noise, but she doesn’t press it, saying instead, “He’s good, isn’t he?”

“I’m _not_ having this conversation with you,” Matt says.

“Oh, come on,” Marci says. “I taught him everything he knows. Let me have pride in my work.”

“ _No_ ,” Matt says.

Marci huffs.

Matt continues shaving her legs in silence until she eventually bites her lip and smiles and says, quietly, “I came ten times.”

“What!” Marci says.

*

“ _Ten times_ ,” Marci repeats, for the fifth time, in the cab on the way to the bar. “Christ, maybe _I’ll_ marry him if you won’t.”

*

The next morning, Matt wakes up to her phone echoing Foggy’s name, answering it by saying, “I promise that we both had nothing but awed and complimentary things to say about your sexual performance.”

Foggy sighs.

“Well, good,” he says. “Marci didn’t marry you off to one of her fancy lawyer friends?”

“No,” Matt says, yawning and curling up on her side. “I am my own fancy lawyer friend.”

“Sing it, sister,” Foggy says, sounding relieved. “Anyway, I’m headed over in an hour to go with you to the doctor. I just wanted to make sure you hadn’t run off with a man who can provide for you and our unborn child.”

“Nah,” she says, smiling. “I guess you’ll just have to do.”

“Thanks for settling!” he says, brightly.

“Only for the best,” she replies, but she’s pretty sure that Foggy already hung up.

After Claire abjectly refused to act as an unlicensed OB-GYN during the most awkward conversation Matt’s maybe ever had in her life, she did recommend a decent one—Dr. Perry accepts _roller derby_ as an excuse for the last of Matt’s lingering injuries, saying, dryly, “Well, I’d advise you to take a hiatus from _roller derbying_ until you’ve given birth and recovered.”

“Did Claire—tell you anything?” Matt asks, slowly. “About me?”

Foggy steps closer to her where she’s sitting, resting a hand on her arm.

“No specifics, Ms. Murdock,” Dr. Perry says. “I seem to attract a clientele that prefers things that way.”

Matt leans back against Foggy, sighing. It might be a little easier to break her _no hospital_ rule this way.

Outside, after they find out that everything is normal, that Matt is six weeks along and perfectly healthy except for a few ribs that are still healing from the last time she went out, Foggy says, “I can’t believe Claire found you a secret special superhero gynecologist.”

“I can kind of believe it,” Matt says.

They eat lunch at a café down the street while Foggy uses a dramatic voice to read off a list of Things To Do To Prepare For Baby from one of the more horrifying mommy blogs that he could find. Matt laughs until she’s got tears in her eyes, grinning at him from the other side of the table.

“You know we’re actually going to have to do, like, eighty five percent of those things, right?” she asks.

“You mean we can’t raid old baby shit from my parents’ storage space the day before you’re due and just wing it?” Foggy asks. Matt shakes her head.

“Nope,” she says. “I’ve been _studying_.”

“Oh no,” Foggy says. “Ms. Summa Cum Laude rears her beautiful, intelligent head.”

“I know you’ve been doing it, too,” she replies, kicking him under the table. “Karen told me you’ve been lugging around pregnancy books since you found out.”

“I may have a pretty good clue about what to expect when you’re expecting,” he says, and Matt beams at him. She can’t help it. 

“We’re really going to be okay, aren’t we?” she asks.

She lifts a fist for Foggy to bump and he huffs out a laugh before he hits their knuckles together.

“Are you kidding me, Murdock? We’re gonna be _amazing_ ,” he says, heartbeat steady and strong. “We’re gonna raise the hell out of this baby.”

*

“Shit,” Jessica says, when she comes into Matt’s apartment from the roof access door while Matt’s listening to a pregnancy self-help audiobook over her stereo and doing yoga. “What the hell is happening in your life, Murdock?”

Matt smiles at her.

“Surprise,” she says.

Jessica stands on the steps and listens for a few seconds before she says, “Oh, _fuck_ , no. You didn’t get knocked up, did you?”

“I’ll name it Jessica if it’s a girl,” Matt says, calmly, letting out a long breath before she gets to her feet.

“You’re kidding,” Jess says, taking the rest of the steps to grab Matt’s phone and pause the book. “ _Tell_ me you’re kidding.”

“Only about naming it Jessica,” Matt says.

“ _Murdock_ ,” Jessica says. “Is this why you sent me to help that kid the other night?”

“Yeah. I’m having a baby,” Matt says, seriously, maybe a fraction threatening.

“With who?” Jessica asks. “And— _how?_ ”

“Well,” Matt says, moving to sit on her couch and taking a deep breath. “When a woman and a man love each other very much—”

“Oh my god,” Jessica says.

Matt pats the seat next to her until she sits down and then she tells Jessica about the prostitution ring and the aphrodisiac and the abbreviated version of Why It’s Not Completely Crazy To Procreate With Your Best Friend After One Sexual Encounter. She’s getting so good at summarizing it that she actually mostly believes it.

“What about your Daredevil shit?” Jessica asks. “You’re just throwing it out the window to spawn? With a guy named _Foggy?_ ”

“No,” Matt says, shaking her head. “Just—maternity leave. Then I’ll figure the rest out.”

Jessica sighs.

“Jesus,” she says, eventually. “Better you than me.”

“Your support means the world to me,” Matt says, dryly. There’s a weird silence, and Matt thinks that maybe Jessica’s going to do something drastic like _hug_ her.

Instead, she gently punches Matt on the arm and says, “Well, I’m gonna go see if I can somehow double up on birth control. Let me know if you—fuck, I don’t know, _need_ something,” before heading back to the roof.

Later that day, she gets a call from Luke, who says, “Seriously, congratulations on the news, Daredevil—but also I’m pretty sure that Jessica’s never going to touch me again, so _thanks._ ”

“Tell her that I think you’d make beautiful children together,” Matt says, and Luke laughs.

“You’re _fucking blind,”_ Jessica yells back, after Luke repeats it. “How would you _even know_.”

“I’m gonna go distract her,” Luke says. “We’ll make sure to get out on the streets more, though, take up your night shifts—you just let us know if you hear shit happening, okay? Don’t go out yourself.”

“I’ve already gotten the lecture,” Matt says, rolling her eyes. “I’ll be good.”

Jessica’s yelling something about vasectomies in the background before Luke hangs up. She’ll let them figure that out on their own.

*

Matt’s morning sickness doesn’t really hit her until the second month or so, when she starts to spend a gross amount of time sitting on the floor of their office bathroom, tasting her own stomach acid.

“Do you want me to come in and sit with you?” Foggy asks, on the other side of the door. Matt does, but also—

“No, you don’t have to,” she says, “I'm disgusting right now.”

“Hey, I'm practiced at holding your hair back,” Foggy replies, warmly. “I’m sure you remember college and your interminably weak stomach and inability to know your limits.”

“I was drunk, then,” Matt says, darkly. ‘I'm very sober now. I'm soberer than I've ever been.”

She retches again, sitting up on her knees to bend over the toilet, making a sad noise.

“You sure you don’t want me to come in?” Foggy asks.

Matt sighs.

“Please,” she says, softly, making a sad face at Foggy when he opens the door and drops down to kneel behind her. She leans back into him and sighs when he pushes her sweaty hair back from forehead.

“Isn’t pregnancy supposed to do weird stuff to your sense of smell and everything?” he asks. “Is that messing with your whole superpower deal?”

“You know how I can smell everything in the world and it's terrible?” Matt asks.

“I've heard tell.”

“Well,” Matt says, slowly, “Imagine that but ten times worse and also my mouth tastes like vomit at all times."

“Oh, hell,” Foggy says, smoothing a hand down her arm.

“It’s fine,” Matt says. “I’ll get used to it. I’m good at getting used to things.”

“At least it’s temporary,” Foggy says, and Matt nods then groans and collapses back on top of the toilet.

“After this, there’s going to be _diapers_ , though,” she says, when she’s finished throwing up again, then starts giggling until Foggy laughs with her, gently curling his arms around her and pressing up against her back.

*

Matt’s three months along and just starting to really show when everything apparently hits her at once—not just morning sickness but cravings and cramps and everything that they listed in the books that she’s been listening to, including a weird overwhelming shift in her sex drive.

She doesn’t actually tell Foggy any of this, off the bat. She mostly spends a lot of the time laying on her couch and making disconsolate noises at him then immediately refusing help, which is so very Matt of her that he only finds it a little annoying.

She finally breaks after he asks her what he can do to help six times in one hour, in increasingly ridiculous voices—she says, a little strangled, “I don’t _know_ , I’m simultaneously exhausted and nauseous and horny all the time, I don’t even know what I _want_.”

Foggy’s silent for a beat before he says, carefully, “You know, I can help with at least one of those things.”

He’s absolutely ready to take it back, pass it off as a joke, but then Matt tilts her head towards him and says, hesitantly half-smiling, “Well, you were pretty helpful last time.”

“ _Pretty_ helpful,” Foggy says, scoffing.

“Very, very helpful,” Matt says, voice going a little shy. “Are you sure?”

“Of course, buddy,” Foggy says. “Come here.”

Matt hesitantly moves to straddle his lap where he’s sitting on the couch, digging her fingers into Foggy’s shoulder until he threads fingers into her hair to pull her down into a kiss. She sighs and melts into it instantly, the slight curve of her belly pressing up against him every time she rocks down. Everything about her is just barely fuller—hips and breasts and belly, softer, giving under his hands where before Matt was all careful, artful muscle.

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been thinking about this. Hell, he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been thinking about this since _undergrad_ , but especially lately.

“Whatever you want, Mattie,” he says, pulling away from the kiss to look at her face and rubbing a finger over her cheekbone. Matt looks a little wild.

“I want to ride you,” she says. “Right here, okay?”

“Okay,” Foggy echoes. “Condom?”

“’s not like you can get me _more_ pregnant,” Matt deadpans back, and Foggy laughs.

“I guess that’s true,” he says, then amiably slips a hand under her dress, fingers sliding up her thigh and over soft cotton panties, where Matt’s already wet. She sucks in a short breath, then reaches down to pull them off, dropping them to the ground and groaning when Foggy immediately presses two fingers inside of her.

“ _Fog_ gy,” she murmurs, sinking down on them, gasping when his thumb brushes over her clit. She rides his fingers until she’s stretched out on three of them, back arched and panting wetly against his neck when she says, “Okay, come on.”

She strokes her fingers through Foggy’s hair and grazes her teeth against his jaw while he’s undoing his belt, shoving his pants and boxers down at the same time. Matt reaches down to wrap her fingers around his dick, shifting until he’s rubbing up against her and she can sink down onto him.

“God, Mattie,” he says, gently pushes the straps of her dress away to pull it down enough that he can unhook her bra and toss it to the floor, brushing his fingers over her nipples.

She nods her head emphatically, murmurs with a little laugh, “I don’t think they’re too sore, give it a shot,” and gasps when Foggy cups both of her breasts.

“Okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she replies, working herself open on his dick, tipping her head back and groaning when he tightens his fingers. “Oh my god, Foggy, thanks for this.”

“It’s a chore,” Foggy says, “but anything for you.”

She snorts out a laugh, slipping further down until Foggy’s completely inside of her and she can nudge her forehead up against his in a feigned kiss. His hands slip down to her hips to steady her as she starts to fuck herself, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she rocks up and down in steady, slow movements.

“Mattie, Matt, you feel incredible,” Foggy says, kind of stunned, because she _does—_ tight and wet around him, constant tight fluid motion. He pushes up so Matt takes him deeper and he can get closer to her, so she gasps and squirms on top of him when he bites gently at her mouth before licking into it again.

She kisses back with a particularly focused enthusiasm, but her hips never stop moving, strong thighs holding her up on either side of him. He runs his fingers down the swell of her stomach, feeling the stretched skin before he slips them lower to circle her clit.

She lets out a moan that’s loud and echoing in her big empty apartment, says, distractedly, “Okay, yeah, this was a—a good choice. You should fuck me, though.”

She raises herself off of him, making a soft noise and skimming her fingers over his arm when he helps her sprawl out on the couch. She shifts around to pull her dress off entirely, pale and bare underneath him as he leans down to press a kiss to her hip, trace his lips over stretch marks, up between her breasts.

“That’s so nice,” she says, “but we were kind of in the middle of something.” 

Foggy laughs.

“Bossy,” he says.

“Practical,” she replies. “Take your pants off.”

Foggy obeys quickly and kneels in front of her on the couch, grabbing Matt’s legs to pull her closer when she wraps them around him. She grins up at him, and he bends down to kiss her again as he thrusts back into her, watching with a certain amount of pride as her mouth falls open when his fingers brush over her clit again.

She comes with a sharp intake of breath and her hand wrapped up in his hair, clenching around him, saying his name emphatically. He wraps his arms around her and covers his body with hers when he gets close, asks, “Matt, can I—”

“Might as well, right?” she offers, with a breathy laugh next to ear, and Foggy muffles the noise he makes in her hair when he comes inside of her.

When he pulls out, he shifts so he’s on his side and he can tug her up against his chest.

“Ugh, I need to take a shower,” she says, squirming in his arms to press a kiss to his cheek and then pulling away to stand up and pull on her underwear, “or we’re going to stain my couch and I’ll be able to smell it forever.”

“Ol’ love ‘em and leave ‘em Murdock,” he says, staring after the faintly scarred plane of her bare back as she walks into the bathroom.

In reply, a wet washcloth hits him in the chest, and she calls, from the open door, “Clean yourself up!”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a caring and gentle lover?” Foggy calls back.

Matt laughs before she slips back out to crawl on top of him and kiss him once, firmly.

“Thanks for the sex, pal,” she says, nudging their noses together, and then she’s gone again. Foggy listens for the sound of her shower starting up again before he groans and sits up to clean himself off and get dressed. 

Sex pals.

This’ll be fine.

*

Matt leaves the bedroom window open at night, even when Foggy starts sleeping over in her bed. She can hear everything without it, but it’s a little clearer when she can catch stuff on the cold air filtering in. She sits up too late, sometimes, after Foggy’s already asleep—sits against the headboard and hugs her knees to her chest and prays between heartbeats and screams and fights.

It doesn’t feel like enough.

She wishes praying was _enough_ to keep her still, to let her sleep, but isn’t that why she put on the mask to begin with?

There’s a couple fighting a block away, and she doesn’t know if it’s going to escalate, but she can’t stop listening. She jolts at the sound of a dish breaking, then jolts again when Foggy murmurs her name.

“What’s happening?” he says, half asleep, reaching out to brush fingers over her arm.

“Nothing,” she says. “Go back to sleep.”

“Mattie,” he says, a little clearer, closing his fingers around her arm and pulling gently until she sighs and slips back down to lay next to him. He’s silent for a few moments before he says, “You want to be out there.”

“No shit,” she murmurs.

“What can I do?” he asks.

The woman who was fighting with her boyfriend leaves the apartment, and he doesn’t follow her. The door slams.

“I need you to be okay with me going back out,” she says, “after—maternity leave.”

Foggy swallows hard. He thinks about it—she can _hear_ him thinking, consciously steadying his breath, calming himself down.

“I’ve never been _okay_ with you doing this, Matt,” he says, eventually, sitting up—probably to get a better look at her, “but I understand why you do it. I’m not gonna say I won’t be worried sick every second you’re gone, though, because I already am.”

“I’ll always come back,” Matt says. “I’ll—I’ll _be here_ , for both of you, I promise. I can’t just give it up, though.”

“I know you’d never leave us on purpose,” Foggy says, a little shaky, “but I’m allowed to be scared, okay? You’ve got to let me be scared.” 

“What are you so scared of?” she asks.

“I’ve been terrified of _losing_ you since I found you bleeding out on your floor,” Foggy says. “I’m scared that somebody will take you from me, that I’ll have to raise this kid on stories about how amazing you were, that you’ll be _gone,_ Matt.”

“I’ll be careful,” she says, wrapping her arms around him, pressing her face into his neck. “Foggy, I’ll be so careful.”

“I’d never stop you from going out,” Foggy says. “You’re a _hero_ , Mattie. You always have been. And I’ll be here to help you be a hero even if it scares the shit out of me.”

Matt nods, says, “Thank you,” with her lips pressed up against his collarbone. She pulls him down to sprawl on top of him, not sure what else to say.

They lay silently for awhile even though neither of them have calmed down enough to go back to sleep, until eventually Matt says, soft and joking, “Do you think you could fuck me hard enough to distract me from listening to somebody get mugged?”

“Maybe,” Foggy says, laughing, a little loud in the quiet room. “Do you want to try?”

“Not right now,” she murmurs, pressing in closer to him. “Just stay, okay?”

“I’m staying if you are,” he says, carefully.

“I’m staying,” she says, pressing a kiss to his shoulder through his t-shirt. “I’m here.”

*

This is the first time Matt’s been both visibly pregnant and in court, and Foggy probably should have known that some shit was going to go down, considering the fact that she hasn’t been able to take out any of her justice-focused anger in the night.

Matt’s face is angled towards the opposing counsel with a look on her face that Foggy has rarely seen before, some type of arched cold fury, lips twisted in something like a smirk.

“What are they saying?” he whispers.

Matt’s smirk turns into a terrifying smile.

“They think they’ve got this in the bag,” she says, calmly, “because of, you know, all this.”

She gestures from her glasses down to the visible curve of her stomach beneath her blazer.

“Wow,” Foggy says. Matt nods.

“I’m going to take the lead on this one, okay?” she says.

“Feel free,” he says, sitting back in his chair. “I look forward to seeing your work, counselor.”

He spares a glance at the men beside them, who are still looking cocky. They have no idea what’s about to happen. He almost pities them.

*

“You _slaughtered_ them,” Foggy says, shaking Matt’s shoulder as they leave the courtroom later. “Mattie, you almost made one of them _cry_ , it was amazing. I haven’t seen you that vicious since law school.”

She grins at him, feeling warm.

“Got a lot of excess rage nowadays,” she says.

“I have so much _adrenaline_ right now,” Foggy says, “just from watching you lawyer. I can see why you beat people up on the side. I want to start a _fight_.”

Matt bites her lip.

“Want to take it out in a different way?” she asks, raising her eyebrows.

“ _Here_?” Foggy asks.

Matt shrugs, then laughs when Foggy grabs her hand and drags her down the hallway. They wait until nobody’s passing before they lock themselves in the accessible bathroom, and Matt immediately slips her panties off and boosts herself up onto the sink.

Foggy groans a little, stepping forward to kiss her.

“Did you seriously get an erection in court?” she asks, pleased with herself, fingers sliding over the front of his slacks before she starts to work on his belt.

“This friends with benefits thing is getting all of my wires crossed,” he replies. “Also, don’t tell me you didn’t turn yourself on by eviscerating those douchebags.”

“Good point,” Matt says, rucking her skirt up over her hips. She should probably be a little ashamed of doing this in a courthouse bathroom, but the heady mix of adrenaline from winning and pregnancy hormones is doing really fascinating stuff to her head right now.

She wraps her legs around Foggy when he nudges up against her, tips her head back until it’s resting against the mirror and bites back a choked moan when he pushes inside of her.

“I _really_ like victory sex,” Foggy says, leaning in to kiss her neck as he starts to fuck her slowly and deeply.

“I’ll try to be victorious more often,” Matt gasps, pushing back.  

“Can’t imagine that will be a problem for you,” Foggy says, “if you keep it up like this. Say _ladies and gentlemen of the jury_ at me.”

Matt drops her voice, says, “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” slow and stretched out, then laughs when Foggy interrupts her with a kiss.

“That’s the stuff.”

“I can start saying things in Latin if you want,” Matt offers.

“Only if you want this to be over real quick, Murdock,” he says, and Matt grins and loops her arms around his neck, shifting so they’re closer.

“Nah,” she says, softly. “I want it to last.”

*

After that trial, Nelson and Murdock—though, more specifically, Murdock—gain a notable reputation for being especially vicious in court. It’s good for business; they get more clients than they ever have, and Matt gets to take out some of her pent-up feelings on unsuspecting prosecutors. It’s not as satisfying as going out at night, but it’s something, and she gets a particular thrill out of smiling pretty and demure before Foggy and her lovingly rip apart every carefully thought out argument.

She’s not exactly letting the devil out, but—it’s close, somedays.

Foggy pesters her about taking on too much work and getting stressed out, and she pesters him about pestering her, and, in the end, things kind of even out. They go to doctor’s appointments and work cases and look for two bedroom apartments in Hell’s Kitchen, because it makes sense, living together before the baby comes.

(“Effin’ gentrification,” Foggy says, after hanging up in shock after talking to a building manager about the rent on a place they’ve been talking about. “Can’t we just stick the baby in a corner somewhere and hope for the best?”

“Well, we’ve already ruled out affording a three bedroom,” Matt says. “Might as well give it up and just not even move. Think we can fit a crib in the kitchen?”

“Maybe we shouldn’t keep the baby in the same place we keep the knives and fire.”)

Some nights, Matt stays out a little too late on the roof, listening. When she needs to, she calls someone else to go do what all of her limbs are itching to do themselves. When Foggy’s there, he’ll sit next to her quietly, a warm weight at her side.

It helps.

*

It’s a boy. The doctor tells them while she does the ultrasound, and Matt grabs Foggy’s hand, can’t catch her breath, whispers, “We’re going to have a _son_ ,” when she manages to find her words. Foggy squeezes her hand back.

“A son,” he repeats, warmly.

When she’s finished with the ultrasound, the doctor leaves them alone so Foggy can describe it to her, carefully and in detail before he says, “Shit, I’m not doing a good job at this. Do you just want to see him?”

“What?” Matt asks, and then Foggy’s pressing something plastic into her hands.

“Feel that,” he says.

“Is this—” Matt asks, softly, running her fingers over it. “Is this the ultrasound?”

“3D printers are kind of amazing,” Foggy says.

Matt runs her fingers over the curve of their son’s cheeks, her breath catching in her chest. She can hear the baby’s heartbeat inside of her, and it’s strong and clear, and she can feel that he’s got her nose—she clenches her fingers around the ultrasound and whispers, “ _Foggy_.”

“Do you like it?” he asks. “The doctor recommended it, and I thought it would be a nice surprise—”

“Shut up and come here,” she says, reaching out for him, and Foggy immediately moves to sit next to her on the table so she can touch fingers to his cheek and reach up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “ _Thank_ you.”

“I’m the one who should be thanking you,” Foggy say, squeezing her knee. “You’re doing all the dirty work here.”

Matt shifts closer to him and keeps touching the ultrasound, feeling overwhelmed.

“I can feel his _fingers_ ,” she whispers.

“He’s got all ten,” Foggy says. “Toes, too.”

“I’m so glad,” she says, laughing wetly, raising her head to look at Foggy with tears in her eyes. “Foggy.”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t know if I ever told you this,” she says, leaning her head against his shoulder, “but I’m so happy that, if I’m doing this, I’m doing it with you.”

Foggy wraps his arms around her.

“Me, too, Mattie,” he says, into her hair. “Me, too.”

*

When Matt’s seven months along, they go to exactly two Lamaze classes before the very polite teacher leading it pulls them aside at the end of the second one and suggests that they might benefit more from practicing together in the privacy of their own home. They make it outside before Matt starts giggling, and Foggy throws an arm around her shoulder and fondly drags her towards the elevators.

“I can’t believe that you got us kicked out of class,” she says.

“ _Me?”_ Foggy asks. “I’m pretty sure that it was you forcing me to switch places with you. You upset the gender roles, Murdock. We shook that whole place up.”

“Oh, of course,” Matt says. “It definitely had nothing to do with you providing _sound effects_.”

“I’m committed to realism,” he replies, seriously. “You can take the actor out of the theatre but you cannot take the theatre out of him.”

“One high school production of _West Side Story_ and he’s an actor,” she says, leaning heavily into his side and angling her head up towards him with a smirk. “You’ve tarnished my good citizen record, Nelson.”

“Pretty sure your good citizen record was tarnished by all the _extralegal crime fighting_ , Murdock,” Foggy replies.

“ _Secret_ extralegal crime fighting is off the record,” Matt says, at the exact same time as the door opens and they’re face to face with a small crowd of elderly people. She smiles brightly at them, pulling Foggy past them before she starts to laugh again, turning to press her face into his shoulder as she shakes.

Foggy wraps his arms around her until she stops and pulls away enough to smile up at him. Foggy thinks about kissing her, for long enough that he’s pretty sure that Matt knows it, because she ducks her head again and looks—nervous, maybe. He wasn’t going to do it, though. He’s smart enough not to overstep the sacred, ill-advised rites of friends with benefits.

“I guess sometimes I forget that Mattie Murdock’s really just a mild-mannered lawyer,” he says, shifting around so Matt can take his `arm as they walk out of the lobby.

“Columbia alumna and valedictorian,” she says. “Practicing Catholic.”

“Literally volunteers with blind children, saint that she is.”

“She’s pretty damn wholesome,” Matt says.

“Well, she’s also having a baby out of wedlock,” Foggy offers. “That’s pretty salacious. Speaking of, I haven’t asked you this in a hot second. . .”

“Foggy.”

“Marry me?”

Matt blushes and smiles at her feet, her fingers tightening on his arm as they keep walking.

“I still can’t get married for the wrong reasons,” she says.

“I know. I’m just gently reminding you,” he says, “that I’m willing to have the state eternally bind us as best friends, for both love and tax reasons.”

And other reasons, but—Matt doesn’t need to feel pressured just because Foggy’s never really gotten over his feelings for her.

“I continue to appreciate the sentiment,” she promises, earnestly, tracing her hand from his elbow until she can tangle their fingers together and hold on as they walk. Anybody who saw them would assume they’re together—Matt’s pink and smiling and wearing one of his old Columbia hoodies, and Foggy has no doubt that he’s never looked more smitten, has never _been_ more smitten.

It’s fine, though. After all, he’s gotten this far without vomiting his feelings all over her. He can probably pull it off for the rest of their natural lives.

*

“You’re falling in love with him,” Marci says, casually, stirring artificial sugar into her coffee. 

“Is she?” Karen asks, then turns towards Matt, nudging her with a foot under the table. “ _Are_ you?”

“Look at her face,” Marci says. “She always makes that face when she’s about to lie.”

“ _Oh_ , shit,” Karen says. “That’s going to be helpful information to have.”

“I should never have let you two meet,” Matt says, crossing her arms and sinking down lower in her chair. Marci came by unannounced to take Matt out to lunch, which she’s been doing way more often since the whole baby thing happened, and Karen got caught in her radar. They’re getting along way too well.

“I think I’m going to replace you with Karen,” Marci says, thoughtfully. “Once you’re busy canoodling with Foggy and getting puked on by your mutant Nelson-Murdock offspring, at least.”

“Oh, they’re _already_ canoodling,” Karen says, laughing.

Marci makes an affronted noise, says, “ _Excuse_ me?”

“How did you—” Matt starts, then thinks better of it, sighing. “We’re not subtle at all, are we?”

“Not even a little,” Karen says, patting her hand where it’s sitting on the table. “Also, I walked in on you two the other night in the office when I came back to get my phone and you didn’t even notice.”

“Oh, no,” Matt says faintly.

“I’ll give you leeway because you’re about to bring new life into the world and you were still wearing all of your clothing,” Karen says, “but we should probably consider writing up some type of policy. At least a sock on the door kinda rule.”

“So, you’re fucking him,” Marci says, deadpan, like she’s catching herself up, “ _and_ you’re having his baby _and_ you’re falling in love with him.”

“I never said I was falling in love with him,” Matt says. They’re all silent for a beat.

“Wow, that really is an obvious face,” Karen says. Matt slowly drops her head into her hands.

“Nothing I do or say or feel counts because my body is full of hormones and, also, another human being,” she murmurs. Karen pets her head. “Please don’t tell Foggy.”

“Sure, Mattie,” she says.

*

“This is just normal for us now, isn’t it?” Karen asks, when she walks into their office to see Matt perched on top of Foggy’s desk with Foggy’s hand sprawled over her stomach, staring at it intently.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Foggy says. “Just one law partner with his hand up his other law partner’s shirt.”

“The baby’s kicking again,” Matt says, giving Karen a slightly overwhelmed smile. It started happening a few weeks ago, but the baby’s managed to get shy about it every time Foggy tries to feel it happen.

“He’s kicking _allegedly_ ,” Foggy says, then he gasps, eyes going wide. “Holy shit, there it is. Holy _shit_. That’s our son, Mattie.”

“Yep,” Matt says. “That’s him.”

“Okay, scoot over,” Karen says, warmly, bumping her hip against Foggy’s chair and letting her hands hover over Matt’s stomach. “This cool?”

“By all means,” Matt says, smiling at her, and Karen gently places her hand next to Foggy’s. Her breath speeds up a little while later, when the baby kicks again.

“Oh, there’s really something in there,” she says, awestruck, slowly pulling her hand away. “That’s so cool.”

“It’s pretty strange,” Matt says, laughing, “but also maybe the best thing I’ve ever felt in my life.”

Foggy rests his cheek against her stomach and Matt drops her hand down instinctively to card through his hair, fingers stalling when Karen tuts softly.

“I’ll let you two have your moment,” she says, significantly, starting to walk away before turning back for a second. Matt hears the snap of her taking a picture on her phone.

“I’m gonna make copies of this,” she says, fondly.

Matt waits until Karen’s out of the room before she leans in to say, quietly, “Karen walked in on us here, the other night.”

“. . .the other night on the desk or the other night on the conference room table?” Foggy asks, faintly, sounding horrified.

“I didn’t ask for details,” Matt says, ducking her head to hide her grin. “We should probably keep it in our pants in the office from now on, like decent practical adults.”

“If we _must_ ,” Foggy says.

“Oh,” Matt adds, regretfully, “Also, Marci knows. But that’s Karen’s fault and not mine.”

Foggy groans softly and says, “I’m making a face at you.”

“Hey, at least _she_ didn’t walk in on us,” Matt offers, running her fingers through his hair again.

Foggy turns his head to press a kiss to her stomach before he gets to his feet and says, “I don’t even want to consider that. I’m making coffee, do you want some of your depressing tea?”

“Please,” Matt says, smoothing her shirt back down. She stays sitting on his desk, feeling the baby squirm around until he’s apparently comfortable and still again, smiling helplessly as she listens to his steady heartbeat and the sound of Karen’s keyboard and Foggy humming softly in the kitchen.

*

“Here,” Jessica says, thrusting an envelope at Matt as soon as she opens the door. “It's cash.”

“We realized maybe an hour ago that neither of us have any idea what to bring to a baby shower,” Luke says, shrugging.

“Cash is great,” Foggy says, stepping up behind Matt and adding, significantly, “Helping us move all our shit to the new apartment next week would _also_ be great.”

“See, _this_ is why I don't tell people about the super strength,” Jessica says, nudging Luke with an elbow.

“We'll be there,” Luke says, nudging her back. “Can't have Matt trying to carry a couch or something.”

“Why does everybody think I'm going to do something dumb?” Matt asks, frowning at them. Nobody answers, and she sighs. “Fine, good point, but most things I do work out.”

“ _Most_ things?” Jessica asks.

“At least half,” Matt says.

From the other side of the apartment, Karen calls out, already a little tipsy, “Jessica _Jones_ , come drink with me while I read disgusting facts about the birth process on the internet!”

“Fun party game,” Jess says, dryly, brushing her knuckles against Matt’s shoulder as she passes.

“Not that I’m not glad to be here, but aren’t baby showers supposed to be for women, technically?” Luke asks.

“Traditionally? Yes, but this baby shower is more to con people into buying us baby shit so we don’t have to do it ourselves, so the more the merrier,” Foggy says, leading him towards the booze. “You want to hear how much a crib costs?”

Matt hangs back to listen to the sound of everybody packed into her apartment—every Nelson that still lives in the city that Foggy hasn’t personally offended, which is a _lot_ of them, their small handful of friends, some clients they got close to. Everything smells like the platters and platters of home-cooked food that Foggy’s mom insisted on providing—a small army of Nelsons and Nelson-adjacent people showed up early with them and armfuls of decorations.   

She hugs herself around the middle and takes it all in before Marci comes over to place an arm around her waist, saying, “Come to your bedroom with me and look at the maternity lingerie I bought you.”

Matt makes a face at her.

“What?” Marci asks, then shifts around, presumably gesturing at the small hoard of tiny Nelson cousins that are crawling on the furniture. “Look, nobody told me there would be _children_ here. This is not exactly my usual party, _Matilda_.”

“I don’t even wear lingerie,” Matt says, frowning at her. “You know how I feel about lace.”

“Oh, it’s _silk_ , you infant,” Marci says, pulling her across the room, waiting until the bedroom door is shut behind them before she says, shoving a bag into Matt’s arms, “Besides, since you’re actually getting routinely laid, I thought these might come in handy.”

“I’m already eight months along, I won’t even get any use out of them,” Matt says, as she pulls one out, “and, besides, Foggy doesn’t _care_ what I’m wearing.”

She rubs the fabric between her fingers and makes a soft, involuntary noise, because. . .it’s really _nice_. Smooth and slick and a little cold.

“Not so bad, right?” Marci asks, a little too victoriously.

Matt’s biting her lip and holding it up so it drapes over her stomach while Marci describes it to her when Foggy walks in, saying, “I saw you get accosted, do you need me to—” before drawing off abruptly when he sees her, heartbeat speeding up.

“This is _Marci’s_ idea of a baby shower gift,” Matt says, half smiling at him.

“That’s very on-brand,” Foggy says. “I should go, right?”

“Hey, it’s your gift, too,” Marci says—definitely _way_ too victoriously, slinking past them. “ _I’ll_ just go.”

She leaves them alone and Foggy’s silent for a long moment before he claps his hands and says, “ _So,_ are we going to be returning those? They look expensive. Knowing Marci, they’re probably worth like three month’s rent.”   

Matt runs her fingers over the fabric again before smirking.

“I don’t know,” she says, feeling a little thrill at the spike in Foggy’s heartbeat. “I might want to try them out.”

“Oh, good,” Foggy says, laughing. “I didn’t want to pressure you or anything, but _wow_.”

“Wow?” Matt asks, raising her eyebrows.

“ _Wow_ ,” Foggy repeats, stepping forward to touch the fabric, hand resting on her stomach. “How soon do you think we can end this shindig?”

“Knowing your family,” Matt says, “Not nearly soon enough.”

“The Nelson clan likes a party,” he agrees, dropping a kiss on her forehead. “Hey, come back out when you’re done feeling that thing up, okay? You still have to ritualistically open presents and make excited noises about them.”

Matt nods and smiles, then, after he leaves, locks the door to put on the negligee underneath her dress. It feels good against her skin, clinging to her stomach just enough to keep it in place without stretching it than flowing down to flutter just under her hips.

It’s a distraction for the rest of the night until everybody finally clears out, leaving a small mountain of gifts and a refrigerator full of leftovers in their wake, and Matt stands barefoot in the living room and asks, trying not to sound as hopeful as she is until the uptick of Foggy’s heart confirms it, “Do you want to see Marci’s gift now?”

“Yeah, please,” Foggy says, immediately dropping the pile of wrapping paper he was holding. 

“Go make sure the door’s locked,” Matt says.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Matt shrugs out of sweater and pulls off her dress while he’s double-checking the door, gratified when Foggy turns around and his breath catches.

“ _Mattie_ ,” he whispers. “Look at you.”

“You’ll have to do that for me,” she says, smiling.

“I’m—really grateful that I get to look at you, honestly,” Foggy says. “It’s a constant source of joy for me. Will you punch me in the head if I spontaneously propose to you again? Because I can feel it coming on.”

“Yes,” Matt says, because the joke proposals were sweet for a while but are maybe starting to break her heart a little, so she might actually do it. It’s a lot easier to punch people than feel things; that’s basically been her life’s motto up until this point, and it’s mostly worked out in her favor. 

“Are you sure?” Foggy asks. “Because that—oh my god, seriously don’t punch me for this—that lingerie is made of marriage material.”

“You _have_ to stop,” Matt says, her laugh a little more strangled than she intends it. “The awful puns, but also—just proposing to me because you feel obligated. It kind of—”

“. . .what, Mattie?” Foggy prompts, sounding concerned now, when she draws off. Matt makes a frustrated noise, suddenly overwhelmed because she’s wearing lingerie in the middle of her living room and she’s so _very_ pregnant and all of her senses are fucked up and off center—she probably looks _ridiculous_ , and Foggy’s being _nice_ , and.

 “It hurts my feelings, okay?” she says, gruffly. It’s ridiculous how embarrassed she is all of a sudden, cheeks flushing red and heart pounding. She’s allowed to have _feelings_ —especially now when her hormones are all jumped up and going crazy. Feelings are just part of the package, even if they make her look weak.

Foggy goes still and quiet in front of her.

“Wait,” he says, softly. “Do you really not know?”

“Know what?”

*

She doesn’t _know_.

“Matt, you’ve _got_ to know by now how I feel about you,” Foggy says, sounding more exhausted than he expects. “ _Especially_ now.”

“I know you’re attracted to me,” Matt says, slowly. “I know you’re. . .excited about the baby.”

“No, Mattie,” he says. “How I _feel_ about you. Can’t you hear my heart? Haven’t you always heard my heart?”

“I still have to translate it,” Matt says, shaking her head. “I have to _guess_ , I’m not—I’m not going to guess about this.”

“Then I won’t make you guess,” Foggy says, stepping forward to trace fingers over Matt’s hand before he takes it in his. “Mattie, I’ve loved you for the overwhelming majority of my adult life—and I’ve been _in love_ with you for—a _long_ time, way before the baby. I didn’t want to say anything because I assumed you _knew_ and didn’t want—but—god, I _love_ you.”

Matt’s silent, mouth open but not moving. After arguably the longest moment of Foggy’s life, she finally asks, softly, “This isn’t just about the baby?”

“I also love the baby more than I’ve ever loved anything and I haven’t even met ‘em yet,” Foggy says, “but I’ve also loved you since basically the second I saw your dumb face, you beautiful idiot.”

Matt’s dumb face breaks out into a grin, something bright and sudden that makes Foggy’s stomach swoop a little bit. Her arms, which were curled protectively around herself, drop to her side as she beams at him, the perfect curve of her stomach draped in dark red silk.

“That was a _really_ romantic insult,” she murmurs, then throws her arms around Foggy’s neck and presses up on her toes into a kiss.

“Gimme something here,” he murmurs, turning to talk against her cheek.

“I don’t know when I fell in love with you,” she says, a little frantically, near his ear, “but I did, Foggy, I did. I love you.”

Foggy will never admit it, but he definitely starts crying first. It’s the pregnancy hormones or something. Totally normal.

“You have _feelings_ ,” he says, smoothing a hand down Matt’s back.

“Be cool about it,” she replies, a little roughly.

*

They’re _definitely_ not going to be able to return the lingerie.

*

The next morning, after Karen has finished her first cup of coffee, she takes a long look at them and says, with a slow and satisfied smile, “You’re all official now, right?”

“What kind of witchcraft do you _have_?” Foggy asks, gaping at her.

“You’re both all— _goofy_ looking,” she says. “Even worse than normal. You’ve got actual cartoon birds floating around your head and—and _hearts_ in your eyes.”

“Do we look goofy?” Matt asks Foggy, angling a smile at him.

“Well, _you_ certainly do,” Foggy says, then adds, when she raises her eyebrows at him, “Glowing and beautiful, obviously, but also incredibly goofy.”

“I’m calling Marci,” Karen says, then runs off before they can stop her.

Matt doesn’t answer her phone when Marci calls, but she plays the voicemail for Foggy.

It’s just Marci laughing for a really long time before she says, “Well, at least you two got your shit together before the kid went to college,” and hangs up.

“College,” Foggy says, with a small moan.

“Let’s get him out of me first before we worry about that,” Matt says, leaning against him.

*

Matt’s due date hits them before they realize. They’re busy moving everything into the new apartment and getting cases finished up and triple checking that everything is baby-proofed. Jessica and Luke drag their furniture up five flights of stairs for them in exchange for a free lunch, and Karen picks out paint colors for all the rooms.

Matt wakes up that morning to her phone saying Karen’s name, and Foggy groans and reaches over to answer it for her and put it on speaker.

“It’s the middle of the night,” he says.

“It’s 8:00 in the morning,” Karen says. “Did you have the baby yet?”

“You’re supposed to meet us at the hospital in like six hours,” Matt says, hiding her face in Foggy’s chest.

“I’m just excited,” Karen says. “Aren’t you excited?”

“I have to expel a person from my body today,” Matt groans, and Foggy hugs her close.

“We also get to meet our son,” he says, smiling down at Matt when she raises her head to smile at him.

“That, too,” she says, obligingly.

“Say hi to Jack for me, tell him I’ll see him later,” Karen says. “Give him a pat.”

“Bye, Karen,” Matt says. 

Foggy rubs a hand over Matt’s stomach.

“Karen says hi, baby boy,” he murmurs, sleepily. “You’ll meet her soon. She’s gonna love you.”

Matt scoots up to kiss him on the mouth.

“Good morning,” she says. “Ready to have a baby?”

“I’m ready to hold the hell out your hand,” he says.

“You still sure about the name?” she asks.

“He’s Jack, Mattie,” Foggy says. “I can’t imagine anything else.”

Matt smiles at him again.

“I guess we should get up,” she says. “Knowing our luck, something terrible’s going to happen within the hour and I want to be really awake for it.”

“. . .yeah, you’re right,” Foggy says, sighing and helping her to her feet. “We should probably brace ourselves for it.”

*

Nothing terrible happens.

Matt’s contractions start before they get to the hospital, and they get there in time for her to be safe and comfortable as they get worse. Foggy’s family and Karen and Marci are parked in the waiting room, as well as Luke and an extremely reluctant Jessica.

“ _You’re_ having the next one,” Matt says, mid-labor, digging her fingernails into Foggy’s palm.

“The _next_ one?” he asks, grinning at her.

“I—shit, I don’t know, don’t listen to a word I say,” she says. “I’m in a state of extreme stress— _Foggy_.”

“You’ve got this, Mattie,” he says, leaning in to kiss her forehead. “You’re so strong, buddy, I know you can do it.”

Matt nods, biting back a shout as she pushes, holding on even tighter.

Jack Nelson-Murdock comes into the world at 3:14 in the afternoon, wailing and tiny, and Matt only bruises Foggy’s hand in the process. There are no complications. Matt gets to hold him a few minutes later, and Foggy cries on her shoulder when he sees them together.

He’s perfect.

*

“Hey, Foggy?” Matt whispers, later, when everyone has come in to visit and Jack is asleep in the crook of her arm. Foggy shifts closer to her where he’s sitting next to the bed, smoothing a hand over her arm, careful not to jostle the baby.

“Yeah?” he asks.

“You know that question you keep asking that I keep saying no to?”

Foggy smiles.

“Yeah, Mattie,” he says.

“Don’t forget to ask me again sometime,” she says, smiling tiredly at him, reaching over with her free hand to run her fingers through his hair. He catches her hand and holds onto it.

“You got it, Murdock.”                     

**Author's Note:**

> BABIES!
> 
> You can follow [me](http://returnsandreturns.tumblr.com) here and [dancinbutterfly](http://dancinbutterfly.tumblr.com) here. <3


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